


The Boys Who Were Very

by Miaou Jones (miaoujones)



Category: Hetalia: Axis Powers
Genre: Alternate Universe - Sex Slavery, BDSM, Bondage, D/s, Love, M/M, Piercings, Sibling Incest
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2010-01-18
Updated: 2010-01-18
Packaged: 2017-10-13 23:36:40
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,618
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/142933
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/miaoujones/pseuds/Miaou%20Jones
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The Master has one rule: no touching each other. But the boys <i>will not stop touching each other</i>.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Boys Who Were Very

The Master has one rule: no touching each other when he is not around. The boys can touch themselves all they want, and they can even watch each other as they touch themselves. But if the Master is not there, no part of either boy can touch any part of the other boy.

But the boys—who are twins and very similar looking and might even be identical, except their personalities mark them so distinctly the Master doesn't have to look to know which is which—oh, the boys _will not stop touching each other_.

When the Master finds them this time, he knows immediately they must be punished. He decides that if they like touching each other so much, they can stay touching each other until he chooses to let them stop. He enforces it like so:

The boys mirror each other not only in their natural looks but in their piercings. The Master directs the boys to kneel facing each other, to move closer together, legs dovetailing. Closer and closer until they can't move any closer, and that will have to do. His finger worms between them (his own finger, for though the Master does not always deliver the punishment himself, this is one of the times he deems it necessary), pinches their nipples together, lines them up with a roll of his fingertips, and delicately slides the straight barbell through the hole in each nipple, fastening them together. He does the same with their other nipples, and then he takes a skein of braided silk, ties the end in a loop, and slides it over the heads of their cocks, over their ball sacs, and draws it tighter, tighter, tighter; and then he begins to unwind the skein, rewinding it round their balls, their cocks, the silk crisscrossing until they are laced up snug. The pristine white silk is a gorgeous contrast to the flush of their skin. Arms round each other's waist now, hands clasped at the small of each other's back, cuffed at the wrists.

This next is not without its difficulties, but when the Master found them this time, they were kissing, and so this must be done. "Present your tongues," the Master instructs. When they do, the Master, with a fair bit of maneuvering and an impressive display of manual dexterity, sets their pierced tongues together.

Last, the Master hooks their collars one to the other. It serves no practical purpose, but it is prettier done, and the prettiness of these boys is the reason the Master has kept them so long.

The Master steps back and looks at them. Their eyes are closed, their brows furrowed. This is one of the things the Master adores—when they respond so like one another, without being conscious of it. So lovely. The Master has whispered those very words to them many times— _"so lovely"_ —but this time he holds the words on the tip of his tongue, then flips them to the back of his throat and swallows them down. Though he adores the boys, they will have no easy words from him this time.

He looks at them and comes to a decision: as beautiful as they are, they must go before he loses his mind over their disobedience. He has a friend who, after seeing only a glimpse of them, expressed interest in the boys. The Master believes he will let his friend have more than a glimpse now. He will let his friend have the boys themselves, though he will be sure to warn his friend—as he himself was not warned—that the boys are _very, very bad_.

Wordlessly, the Master leaves the room.

Wordlessly, the boys kneel in the room. They don't need words, not with each other. All they need is each other.

The elder twin, Matthew, is the quiet one and the more obedient of the two. He _wants_ to obey—but he also loves his brother. He loves Alfred so much that when Alfred whispers "please" and touches his lips to Matthew's neck, Matthew can't say no.

Alfred loves his brother, too. But unlike his brother, Alfred also loves to be punished. He likes all the creative things their Master comes up with to punish them; even when the punishment is separation from each other, that only makes their reunion all the sweeter.

This punishment, being bound unnaturally close like this—Alfred _likes_ this punishment. Every time Matthew shifts, even the most miniscule shift, tendrils of pain spike and wind through him. And oh, Alfred really likes those, the way they settle heavy, thrumming, hot and alive in his cock.

Matthew was just going to be a good boy and sit there like the Master said to, Alfred is sure. But since they're so close, since they're already locked in the shape of a kiss, Alfred wants to make it a real kiss. He can't use his tongue, except for the tiniest flicks of the tip.

(Privately, in words he wouldn't say aloud even if he had use of his tongue, Alfred thinks the Master _wants_ him to do this—why else would he conjoin them so, with Alfred's tongue on the bottom where his tip can flick up against his brother?)

(In his heart, Alfred believes the Master likes it when Alfred is bad, because then the Master gets to punish them. He doesn't know he's making the Master feel like he's going to lose his mind, even when the Master says, "Alfred, you are going to make me lose my mind.")

As Alfred flicks his tongue tip ever so sweetly against the underside of his brother's tongue, he moves his lips. He can't move much; he can't tilt his head—or rather, he can, only Matthew will have to tilt with him, else it will hurt. Alfred wouldn't mind if it hurt, but Matthew doesn't like pain as much as he does. So whenever there's physical punishment, Alfred tries to take as much of it for himself as he can.

In this punishment Alfred can move his lips a little, and as he does, he feels Matthew inhale so that almost all of Alfred's breath goes into his brother; and then Matthew breathes back into him, and Alfred feels like maybe _he_ is the one who is going to lose his mind. But in the best, oh the very _best_ way...

And that is how the Master and his friend find them: wrapped up in each other, in breathplay, _playing_ , and _kissing_ —when all the Master wanted was for them to understand how bad they'd been.

The Master's jaw clenches and unclenches, and he realizes it is impossible. They will never be made to understand. The only thing is to separate them.

The door slams, so the boys know he is there. Alfred just closes his eyes tighter and keeps breathing his brother. But Matthew opens his eyes and slides his gaze up to the Master, and the Master sees the jolt ripple through Matthew as he sees someone else is here—yet Matthew doesn't stop kiss-breathing Alfred.

"Well, Arthur." The Master turns to his friend. "There they are. I think one of them would make an excellent companion for you."

Even though Alfred's eyes are shut, he's listening. He hears it—"one of them." One.

He stops breathing his brother. He stops breathing at all.

But breath is forced into him, because Matthew also heard "one," and he gasped, and that shocked exhale is now winding into Alfred's lungs.

Alfred kind of likes it, the cold shivers of fear dancing up his spine. This is such a clever punishment, he thinks: to bind them as if they were one, and then to tear them apart. The Master is very, very good at thinking up games like this, which is why Alfred loves him so.

"I thought you were selling them as a pair?"

"I was," the Master says. "But I see now that it would be a mistake. If you like that one—"

Alfred opens his eyes to see whom the Master is indicating, and although he isn't surprised when his sideways gaze meets the full-on glare of the Master, his own glance shies away.

"—I'll give him to you."

"Give?" the Master's friend repeats hesitantly. "I can afford your price, Gaius. I've fallen on some hard times, it's true, but not so hard that—"

"Give," the Master repeats. "He's not worth enough to me to sell."

The sting from those words is new, different, and Alfred doesn't like it. He turns his head to look straight at the Master, but when he does, he feels vibrations of pain in the tongue attached to his as the sudden movement tears at Matthew. Alfred can't believe he forgot Matthew in that one moment. He shifts, adjusting back to his brother, looking only at his brother; and then he closes his eyes to look at nothing.

It's very quiet. Alfred can feel their presence, the Master and his friend, so he knows they haven't left. But they aren't saying anything.

Finally, the Master's friend says, "I will _buy_ him from you," emphasis subtle but intractable. "So long as you also sell me the other."

There is another pause before the Master says, "I think that would be a mistake, Arthur."

"But mine to make."

The sigh is the Master's. Then the Master says, "All right," and there are footsteps and another sound Alfred isn't sure about, and the door closes, and they're alone again, Alfred and Matthew. Alone and joined, comfort in the feel of each other's skin. But though their lips are still touching, they no longer kiss, they breathe only themselves.


End file.
